Dragonpox: A Spout of Fever, Friendship and Fangs
by Kibeth89
Summary: OotP. Harry falls ill with dragonpox during the stay at Grimmauld Place for the Christmas holidays. Sirius takes care of him— with the help of Remus, whose relationship begins to closen and develop with Tonks. The reason as to why Remus was so reluctant.
1. Chapter One

Boxing Day, the day after they had been to St Mungo's Hospital to visit Mr Weasley, seemed a particularly grim day to Harry, although he couldn't really understand this. He was more than sincerely happy and relieved that Mr Weasley was recovering well from the serpent attack, he had come to accept from Ginny's advice that he had not been possessed by Voldemort on that said fatal night, and Christmas had been a relatively cheery affair following the visit to the ward. Sirius, enthused by the unplanned company he could enjoy, had put a great deal of effort into the festivities which had included a marvellous dinner, drinks and music. And Harry was enjoying spending time with his godfather, there was no doubt about that.

Dumbledore's strange distance was a constant nag at the back of his mind but he was slowly becoming used to that, and had made a conscious decision not to be bothered by it at least until he returned to school in the new year in two weeks' time.

Something that bothered him was the encounter they had shared with Neville the previous day who had been visiting his insane parents at the hospital. This was partly because Ron and Hermione had barely stopped discussing it – sympathetically, of course – since they had returned. Ginny, as soon as they had left the hospital, had thankfully not included herself in these conversations. She was close to Neville and probably felt it was his business and not theirs. Harry had merely just come to realise that he and Neville shared more in common than he had really considered before.

Even this, though, couldn't explain how he was feeling today. Sat with Ron and Hermione in the kitchen, he had been completely switched off to their conversation for the last fifteen minutes or so. His copy of _Intermediate Transfiguration_ lay two inches from his face, which he rested on his folded arms atop of the kitchen table. Besides perhaps Snape, only McGonagall could have set them such a mammoth amount of homework for the Christmas holidays. But he hadn't even glanced at the text yet. Hermione of course had finished that essay and was now torn between helping Ron with his and completing Umbridge's homework.

"Why are you even doing that?" scathed Ron, scowling at Hermione's perfectly neat slanted handwriting. "What a waste of bloody time!"

All the homework consisted of was copying out the last five chapters of _Defensive Magical Theory_.

"Do _you_ want to get on the bad side of Professor Umbridge?" Hermione retorted and smiled smugly as Ron winced, probably remembering the brutal scars Harry had acquired on the back of his hand. "Thought not. Looks like you'd better do it then, Ronald."

Ron grumbled something foul about "homework on Boxing Day" and turned back to his Transfiguration essay.

"Are you all right, Harry?" asked Hermione concernedly.

Harry vaguely heard his name. Guessing what the question had been, he thought he felt rather ill on reflection and definitely run down. His head felt incredibly heavy and his body ached everywhere. Lack of sleep was most likely the underlying factor.

"Fine," he mumbled without moving. "Just knackered."

"Maybe you should go and get some more sleep."

"Yeah," he agreed, "probably a good idea."

And without another word or bothering to gather up his things he dragged himself to his feet and proceeded to climb the musty staircase to his bed.

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A knocking on his door woke Remus slowly which was unusual for somebody like him. Normally, the slightest noise or disturbance sent his senses into sharp overdrive. But as he opened his eyes and blinked he felt disorientated and his vision was blurry. The knocking continued until a low male voice called out his name.

"Remus?"

Remus sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Sleep never lasted long enough, ever. These days he just seemed to pass from one phase of exhaustion to the next.

"Come in," he called hoarsely, but made no effort to rise from his bed.

The door opened and Sirius' dark head poked around the door.

"Sirius."

"Ah, sorry." Sirius grimaced as he realised he had woken his friend and made to back out of the small, poky room. Smiling slightly, Remus reminisced on a time when this wouldn't have bothered the other man in the slightest.

"It's fine," he objected. His voice was still croaky. "At least make my awakening worthwhile."

"I didn't want to disturb you, Moony," Sirius said as he quickly re-entered and closed the door with a click. He was so thin that he slipped through the crack in the door quite easily.

"It's fine," Remus repeated amiably. "Sleeping in the day is a luxury I really shouldn't become too used to."

"Were you on guard last night?"

Nodding, Remus heaved himself up from the pillows into a sitting position and gestured to the end of the bed for his old friend to sit. He was inwardly slightly saddened as he realised this action was required for Sirius to feel comfortable enough to do this.

"Then you have an excuse, at least," Sirius said grimly.

It wasn't difficult for someone who had once known this man extremely well to detect the hidden bitterness in that statement.

"I suppose," Remus agreed. "Since Arthur's attack, it's important that we stay alert when on guard." He paused. "Dumbledore seems to think this is an ideal time for Voldemort to try and seize the prophecy with it being Christmas."

"Like we can _really_ have a good Christmas," said Sirius, glum.

"I think most of us had quite an enjoyable day yesterday, Sirius, thanks to you. Harry included."

Sirius nodded – more automatically than anything, Remus thought – and twiddled his thumbs as he sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed. The moodiness, bitterness and depression that consumed him was becoming more obvious by the day as Sirius continued to be caged in this old dark house that he had once hated so much.

Sighing, Remus made a mental note to speak to Dumbledore – again – as soon as possible. He knew Sirius, or at least, he had known him well all those years ago. Since the sentence in Azkaban some aspects of his old friend were unrecognisable. But he didn't doubt that the rash Sirius, the adventure-seeking, active Sirius remained present to a strong degree, and this concerned him greatly – particularly when his godson was right at the top of Voldemort's wanted list.

"What's on your mind, Sirius?" he questioned gently after watching the other man for a few moments. "You look troubled."

Sirius looked up and smiled a smile that did not quite reach his dark, sunken eyes.

"There are many things on my mind," he admitted. "With nothing else to do but think, they tend to build up quite a bit."

Suddenly feeling a lot heavier but knowing he had no right in comparison to Sirius' feelings, he swivelled his legs round so that he sat on the edge of the bed next to Sirius and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It won't always be like this, Padfoot," he consoled, using the old nickname in the hope that it would lighten his friend somewhat. "You just have to be patient."

"And how long will I have to wait!" Sirius exclaimed in a soft snarl. "Until Voldemort's downfall? Until they catch Peter? That could be _never_!"

"Dumbledore wouldn't let you live out your life here forever," said Remus calmly. "But things are not great right now. We at least need to wait until Fudge is no longer Minister. With him still in office, I detest saying it, my friend, but you don't stand a chance."

"I just…" Sirius exhaled a sharp breath of air and shook his shaggy head. "I just didn't imagine it to be like this. After Azkaban, I thought if the truth was revealed, if I exposed Peter, I'd be free… and could attempt to restart some kind of life. But as it is right now, Remus, I might as well still be locked up on that godforsaken island."

"You have Harry. James would be pleased about that."

"Harry… I'm worried about Harry," conceded Sirius gravely, as if a fresh anxiety had come to the forefront of his mind. "Tonks was here just now. She said she saw him on the staircase. She said he looked like a ghost and barely noticed her say hello."

Remus hesitated before he replied.

"Harry has a lot on his mind right now. For a fifteen year old, he's under stress that any adult would struggle to cope with."

Sirius looked at him gravely. Considering they were for the present away from the topic of the static stance of Sirius' life, Remus removed his hand from his shoulder.

"Do you think he can deal with it?" asked Sirius seriously. "After Azkaban, I find it hard to judge other people's strengths."

Smiling, Remus nodded.

"From teaching him in his third year, I know he's strong, Sirius. He's had to deal with a lot that's been thrown his way. Dumbledore considers him a remarkable man. As long as he has continued support… it will still be difficult for him, but he'll be all right."

Sirius stood then and grinned.

"I suppose he is James' son."

"That he is," Remus agreed. But he secretly wondered if James would ever have coped if he'd experienced the same conditions his son was forced to endure.

Observing that Sirius was about to leave – probably to check on Harry, now – Remus slid back onto the bed and shuffled into a comfortable position on the springy mattress. More sleep was definitely needed. There was only a week and a half to the Full Moon and he was still exhausted as it was from the previous month's cycle.

Through lack of time, Snape had failed to brew the wolfsbane potion to control Remus' lycanthropy for the previous month; Remus had to take himself away from Headquarters to an uninhabited location. This was not something he blamed Snape for, but it was also not something he would tell Sirius lightly. Dumbledore had exhibited confidence that Snape would make the potion for this month's Moon, but he didn't want to count upon it. Moreover, a transformation under the wolfbane's influence wasn't as horrific as a natural transformation, but he was still left drained of energy for a week afterwards nevertheless. Satisfactory and refreshing sleep in itself, whether in the day or night, was always elusive in the life of a werewolf.

"Close the door on the way out, Padfoot," he mumbled, stifling a large yawn.

"Certainly, Moony." Sirius took a stride towards the door but suddenly stopped and swirled round and pulled something out of the inside of his robes. "I forgot!"

"What now?" Remus half-groaned, rubbing his eyes again.

"Tonks didn't have time to hover," said Sirius, and Remus noticed that there was some kind of wicked glint in his eye that resembled the Sirius Black of old, "but she told me to give you this."

He handed him a rather large card in a plain red envelope. Guessing immediately it was a Christmas card, Remus was surprised but somewhat touched as he reached out and took it from Sirius. He had come to know Tonks particularly well since last June but never would have thought she would put in individual effort when it came to other members of the Order.

"She, er – didn't ask me to give anyone else one. Seems you're just the special one."

Even more surprised, Remus glanced up to find that Sirius was smirking – and definitely wasn't hiding it.

"What?" the animagus asked innocently.

Remus shrugged. "Tonks and I are friends."

"Rather large and red card for a friend, I'd say," Sirius pointed out and his smirk became a beam. "Come on, open it!"

"Get out," Remus half-growled, becoming worried that all of Grimmauld Place would soon think something was going on between him and Tonks.

Sirius burst into a barking laugh and left the room – but Remus felt uplifted, as it was very rare he heard that old familiar laugh nowadays.

He was surprised to find that he felt slightly nervous, which was daft, really. But immediately after the door slammed shut he dug a finger beneath the paper flap of the envelope and tore open the seal.

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	2. Chapter Two

It was a graveyard, similar to that graveyard he had seen so often in Little Hangleton where the resting place of Voldemort's muggle father lay. But this was a different setting. Three grey gravestones stood solemnly and almost proudly to his left but he couldn't read the names that were engraved without his glasses. He could see, though, that they were old. Weeds thrived around their bases and they were deeply chipped and charred.

And Cedric Diggory's body had disappeared – where was it? Everything was so dark, murky almost. He was alone, and then suddenly wasn't.

He was immobile – he must have been jinxed. Frozen to the spot on his knees, he could then only watch as Voldemort glided down the grassy hill toward him with fifty hooded figures at his wake. Not dementors, though. The painful cold that usually accompanied the presence of those vile creatures was absent.

The distorted white face of Tom Riddle smiled dangerously as he approached Harry, knowing this was the end, knowing he had triumphed. Slashed black robes billowed behind Harry's greatest enemy until he halted almost gracefully and directly in front of The Boy Who Lived.

Unwillingly, Harry looked up into his eyes. Fiery red irises alive with hunger and evil bored into his and in that very moment fear consumed his every living cell.

When Voldemort spoke, it filled his mind, pushing out everything else.

"_Do you approve of my friends, Harry Potter_?" the Dark Lord hissed.

The dark, silent figures synchronised as they removed the hoods from their faces as if in slow motion. And Harry saw clearly the expressionless faces of his friends. So white and pale, stood behind Voldemort were Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, then Sirius, Lupin and Mr and Mrs Weasley. He wanted to cry out to them, to warn them to run for their lives, but realised it was futile as he had no voice. Were they even alive? Thick blood matted Hermione's hair and Ron bore a huge gash down the side of his neck.

"_And what of these quite different friends, Potter_?" said Voldemort shrilly, eyes blazing.

A long white hand caressed the rugged edge of the grave that stood at the centre of the trio – and Harry could read it now. _Here lies James Potter_. Beside it on the stones of their own were the engraved names of _Lily Potter_ and _Harry James Potter_.

"_Don't you touch it_!" Harry tried to shout. Anger boiled through and sickened him as the hand moved slowly to rest atop of his own gravestone.

"_Do you see_?" whispered Voldemort. "_Do you see the inevitability? You are going to die, Harry Potter_."

"_No_," said Harry thickly.

But the menacing figure opposite was already raising his wand. The familiar onlookers merely watched impassively.

"_No_!" Harry repeated, but he couldn't move a muscle.

And Voldemort burst into a cackle of mad laughter than echoed around the blurry graveyard and surrounding valley.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

The laughter continued, reeling around Harry's mind, triumphant and gleeful.

"Harry!"

He would never forget the sound of that laughter; he couldn't.

"Wake up."

And the realisation that it was all a dream came crashing down around him as it had countless other times when he awakened. But usually there was no rough hand on his shoulder, shaking him. His eyes snapped open.

Sirius sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

"Harry," his godfather said in relief, and took away his hand. "Are you all right?"

No. The reality hit him and at the same time, so did an intense feeling of nausea.

"I'm gonna be sick," he mumbled.

He leapt up, but wasn't quite awake enough to balance and his legs collapsed under the weight of his body. His head spun so rapidly that he didn't realise at first that he'd hit the bare floorboards.

"Harry!"

Sirius was there in an instant and placed an arm around his shoulders to steady him. But Harry tried weakly to push him away.

"Sirius," he protested croakily.

But it was too late. Unable to halt the desperate urge of his body, he managed to jump onto his hands and knees to prevent the spoiling of his godfather's robes before he choked and vomited. It only lasted a moment. But it was enough to leave his throat burning as he gasped for breath. He was also shaking profusely. Sirius immediately moved forwards.

"All right now?" he asked calmly.

Harry nodded, unable to speak. Sirius hooked two hands beneath his armpits and supported him to his feet. Harry stood warily and leaned on the older man as he helped him back to the bed. Vaguely, he watched Sirius as he cleared up the mess in a wave of his wand and conjured a wooden goblet out of thin air. Cold sweat soaked his entire body and he couldn't stop trembling.

"Aguamenti," said Sirius quietly, pointing his wand at the goblet and handing it to Harry who drank the cold water thirstily.

When his thirst was quenched, Harry grimaced.

"Sorry about that," he muttered.

Now that he could think straight, the embarrassment that Sirius had witnessed him having a nightmare, as well as seeing him throw up all over the floor because of it, was not so easy to ignore. But Sirius shrugged.

"It sounded like a bad dream," he said simply. There was definitely a suggestion of room for expansion to that statement, though.

"Yeah." Harry wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve and exhaled in a sharp puff. He still felt sick. "The only other time I've been sick though is after I saw Mr Weasley get attacked by the snake."

His godfather frowned. He appeared very white behind his untidy black hair.

"You don't think you just experienced another vision?" he asked a little sharply.

"No," replied Harry firmly. "It was just a dream. I was in a… different graveyard. My parents' graves were there… and Voldemort was right in front of me about to kill me." He took another large gulp of water and smacked his lips in a definitive manner. "Just a nightmare. My scar isn't hurting... for once."

Everything else did though, he thought grimly; his muscles ached like they were mildly on fire and his head pounded.

Not quite looking at him, Sirius nodded.

"I'm fine, Sirius," said Harry. "I dream quite a bit, these days. I think I'm just a bit off colour today. I wasn't feeling well before."

"Harry, look, I know I'm not one to talk… because I'm the type of person who keeps things to myself, too. But if you talk about your fears to people, it might stop some of these nightmares you're having. They can't be pleasant."

"I'm not afraid of being murdered by Voldemort!" Harry said a little hotly.

But even as he said it, he wasn't sure this was true. He didn't worry about it from day to day, but certainly in the graveyard last summer he had been terrified of the nothingness that might have followed a sudden curse flung his way.

"All right," Sirius said slowly, "but there are things in your past, present and future that anyone would be afraid of. I just want you to know that there are people here for you, that's all. It might help."

"Thanks," said Harry, feeling slightly awkward.

In some ways, it was still difficult to become used to having people around who cared about him like this. The only person he felt he was used to confiding in was Dumbledore, who was always so understanding. Not that Dumbledore had put effort into checking upon Harry's wellbeing recently.

"It's almost dinner time," reflected Sirius, glancing at the dusty clock on the wall. "Do you feel like eating?"

The truthful answer was no, but Harry was afraid that Sirius, who was still frowning, was anxious enough about him that he would share Harry's nightmare and sickness with the other occupants of Grimmauld Place. Attending dinner would give him much less reason to worry. And he also didn't know if he could bear Mrs Weasley fussing over him because he hadn't had any food.

"Yeah, I can eat."

But the thought of food made his stomach churn dangerously.

"Ok," said Sirius, "I'll leave you to freshen up. I think we're eating early tonight because there's an Order meeting later. I'll find out."

"Thanks, Sirius," said Harry wearily.

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It hadn't been a particularly productive Order meeting. There hadn't been anything new to report, and Dumbledore had merely refreshed the reasons as to the duties they were each carrying out. Still, it was useful to keep up regular meetings to know where everybody stood, what everybody was doing, and how everybody felt about the situation.

Remus had been watching Sirius throughout some of it. Sirius' eyes had been glazed and he hadn't for once risen to the usual demoralising comments that Snape had aimed subtly in his direction. He had to wonder what was going through his old friend's mind.

As everybody rose to leave after Dumbledore announced the meeting to be over and there was a shuffle of feet and clunks of chairs, Sirius' head snapped up and he glanced around almost wildly as if just realising where he was. Once the kitchen was almost vacated, Remus made his way over.

"You were paying attention today," he chided, trying to put a tone of humour into the accusation.

"I want to speak to Dumbledore," Sirius muttered.

Surprised, Remus looked toward the door where Dumbledore hovered having finished a brief conversation with McGonagall.

"Albus," Remus called loudly. "Sirius would like a word."

Dumbledore never looked surprised when somebody wanted to talk to him. Remus lowered himself into the chair next to Sirius as the headmaster smiled and came toward them.

"Would you mind leaving us for a brief moment, Molly?" said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Molly, in typical housekeeper fashion, had been gathering up the empty goblets and collecting them with her wand. They landed back on the table with several heavy clunks.

"Certainly, Albus."

"Thank you," he beamed.

But Remus thought she glanced at them slightly suspiciously as she left the room and closed the door. There was a brief pause.

"Sirius?"

"It's Harry," said Sirius firmly.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. He readjusted his half-moon spectacles on the end of his crooked nose as he waited for somebody to continue.

Remus should have guessed this was about Harry, really, if not about Sirius wanting to do more for the Order. At dinner time Harry hadn't touched his beef casserole and had excused himself to go to bed. Remus had thought he looked extremely pale, if not a little ill.

"Sirius, we spoke about this," Remus said gently, despite his earlier observation. "Harry would be remarkable if he wasn't run down with everything that's happened."

Sirius shook his head.

"I found him having a nightmare before," he revealed. "It was about Voldemort murdering him! When he woke up, he was sick all over the floor. You can't tell me that's normal for a fifteen-year-old teenager."

"But Harry is not a normal teenager," Dumbledore reminded him. "Terrible things have happened to him which makes it inevitable that he will dream about them."

"How can you just not care that he's suffering like this?" said Sirius angrily through gritted teeth.

"Sirius," Remus warned.

Dumbledore folded his arms across his chest and long beard and frowned.

"I do care about Harry," he said quite quietly, "more than perhaps you realise. But there is little we can do for him besides offering continued care and support. Placing him in enchanted sleeps, as I told him in the summer, would do more harm than good."

"Can't you talk to him?" Sirius demanded, meeting the wise wizard's eyes squarely. "I know he's bothered that you continue to ignore him."

"For which you know the reason as well as I do, Sirius."

Remus detected a hint of sadness from Dumbledore, not in his voice, but behind those familiar glasses as he looked unwaveringly at Sirius.

"I would never wish to place Harry in more danger," he continued gravely. "And my presence is a danger to him, evidenced by the feelings he experienced before Christmas about wishing to harm me. It is my wish that we do everything possible to keep Lord Voldemort at bay, and not in Harry's mind."

"Well it can't help that he's locked up in this place!" Sirius sounded like he was close to exploding. "If he could go out, get some fresh air…"

Remus looked down to his feet as he pondered whether Sirius was really talking about Harry, or relating the constraining base and prison of Grimmauld Place to himself.

"Enough," said Dumbledore. "Harry's safety is priority. His friends are here, you are here. He is not alone, Sirius, and it is a matter of a couple of weeks before he returns to school."

His face red, Sirius stared at Dumbledore for a moment. Then he stood swiftly and took long strides across the kitchen, left, and slammed the door behind him. The noise rang in Remus' ears.

"Sometimes he is no different to the rash, hot-tempered fifteen-year-old that was sent to my office countless times in past years," mused Dumbledore, then sighed and looked to Remus. "Of course, he has also changed in many ways since then.

"I doubt he means to accuse you. He's frustrated in himself, Albus. And he does genuinely care about Harry."

"Alas, I try to keep them both safe and neither fully understand that it is in their best interests. Sometimes I do wonder if I am making the right choices," Dumbledore admitted.

"If you sent Sirius to do work for the Order," said Remus, "you know it would be disastrous. He is an excellent wizard, but not a subtle one."

Dumbledore nodded but looked worried.

"However," said Remus, "allowing him to go out now and again might be a good idea. He isn't the kind of man who can be cooped up. After all those years of imprisonment, he feels now that nothing has changed."

"I agree," Dumbledore said heavily, stroking his beard. "But I did not intend to condone his imprisonment here when I agreed to use this house for headquarters. Sirius, however caged, is a man who strives to do something useful rather than pursuing wasteful efforts. I can only hope that this will not end badly."

"What about Harry?"

"Keep an eye on him, will you, Remus?" Dumbledore answered. "Keep him busy until he returns to Hogwarts. There is presently little I can do for him besides ask this of you and Sirius."

"We will," agreed Remus.

Dumbledore nodded and smiled, and swept from the room with confidence.


	3. Chapter Three

When his old, battered watched showed him that it was half past midnight, Remus couldn't believe his eyes. He blinked and in doing so realised that they watered and stung with tiredness. Everybody else had long gone to bed which had left him alone in the dim kitchen with his dusty book and a kettle. Dying flames crackled in the fireplace which had always relaxed him somehow. Normally, Sirius stayed up until infinite early hours, but the owner of the large house had not shown his face downstairs since the Order meeting. Remus supposed, on reflection, he should have gone to see him, but a bitter, moody Sirius was not always the easiest person to talk to.

Yawning, Remus stretched his arms out high until his stiff shoulders made several satisfying clicks and he rubbed the back of his neck. His tendons were on fire. These old-fashioned, wooden kitchen chairs were not the comfiest perches for long periods of time. Not for the first or last occasion, he had become lost in magical text that had ensnared him for a ridiculous number of hours. It was no wonder he had become accustomed to taking afternoon naps.

As he closed his book and decided it was time to retire, he jumped in his seat as the kitchen door creaked noisily and disturbed the peace. He whipped round. But it was Tonks who entered. She seemed surprised to find him sat there, but she smiled that lovely bright smile that sent Remus' stomach somersaulting.

"Tonks! You gave me quite a fright."

"Sorry, Remus, I wasn't expecting anyone to be up still. I've been on guard all evening, that's why I missed the meeting." She shuddered as she removed her long woollen coat and flung it over the back of a chair. "It's freezing out there!"

She opened a box on the kitchen side and grabbed a fistful of black powder from it, then threw it into the fire. Instantly the flames roared and illuminated the room more clearly. In the light, Remus saw that she appeared tired – dark rings circled her blue eyes which were puffy and red – and her hair wasn't any one of the bright shades he was accustomed to seeing but was a dull brown.

As she turned around, she tripped over the broomstick that was lay waiting against the wall.

"Oops," she muttered, and looked embarrassed which was unusual, as usually she admitted to being clumsy without a second thought. Remus bit his lip to stop himself from chuckling. "Fancy a butterbeer?" she asked brightly.

Now that he had company – and he had always enjoyed Tonks' company – the immediate desire to go to bed had vanished. He always found he could really be himself with Tonks and could truly relax in her presence.

"Why not?" he smiled, pushing his book away. "I was going to have another cup of tea, but a butterbeer sounds much more welcoming."

"What are you reading?" Tonks asked conversationally as she grabbed two dusty bottles from the cupboard.

Remus glanced down at the title.

"The Ins and Outs of True Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"That's an old one," she noted, sitting down next to him. A casual flick of her wand made the caps pop off the bottle tops. "Moody loved that book, had us studying it right till the end of our training."

"It is good," he agreed. "Some old, but interesting, techniques."

"Still wish you were a Hogwarts teacher?" she questioned softly.

Remus frowned as he took a swig of butterbeer; it wasn't something he'd really thought about since he had left the school. He had just accepted that having a stable, paid job – and one that was ideal for interest purposes - wasn't meant to be.

"Yes and no," he said honestly. "Yes, because I enjoyed every minute of it. No, because the end of that school year proved that I was a danger to the students there, and I removed that danger."

Tonks smiled sadly. There was a pause as she drank a gulp of butterbeer.

"From what I've heard of that night, when Sirius was first revealed, the circumstances didn't give you a lot of choice," she chided gently. "You discredit yourself, Remus. You were a brill teacher."

Raising his eyebrows, Remus wondered how she could make such a confident statement. He knew he had been a good teacher, but he certainly had not been a safe one to be around, and the thought of what could have happened on that night if things had occurred a little differently still sent shivers down his spine.

"Oh, I was speaking to Hermione about subjects and past teachers," Tonks explained, "blah blah. She thinks the world of you."

"Hermione's brilliant," agreed Remus and grinned. "So of course she would."

Tonks smiled. They drank their butterbeer in silence for a good couple of minutes, each lost in their own pattern of thought. There had only been a handful of people in his life with whom Remus had felt comfortable enough in their presence not to have to enforce conversation. Tonks was one of these people.

His feelings towards her were confusing. Truthfully, he knew he was afraid to assess these feelings in case of what he would have to admit to himself. It was certain that he thought the world of the auror, and vice versa, but whether it was their friendship she valued, or something more, Remus wasn't sure or didn't want to be sure. But his heart sank whenever he considered that the age gap was a current barrier in his own mind before the issue of his lycanthropy even arose.

"You're frowning. What are you thinking about?" Tonks asked innocently, breaking the silence. Obviously she had been watching him as he had glazed over. Remus raised his bottle to his lips and clunked it against his teeth uncomfortably, so lowered it again.

"Ah," he prolonged, a lump in his throat, "I was thinking that I owe you a thank you. For the card."

Tonks smiled. The Christmas card she had given him had on the front a picture of a wolf howling, stood on a snowy cliff overlooking a small village with a Christmas tree in the square. A bright silvery moon had been illustrated to match the coat of the wolf.

"I found it in a muggle shop!" she told him. "I thought it was pretty appropriate."

"Indeed! Thank you," said Remus, looking into her eyes, "it made me smile."

Close up, her eyes were redder than he had first noticed.

"Are you all right, Tonks?" he asked concernedly before he could stop himself. "You look… as if you've been crying?"

Immediately she tensed and wrenched her gaze away.

"I'm fine," she answered dully.

There was a thickness in her tone that warned Remus not to probe, but he cared too much for that. He laid a hand on her forearm.

"What's wrong?" he asked very quietly. "You can tell me."

"I said I'm fine," she muttered, jerking her hand away.

She stood up quickly and moved to stand in front of the fireplace. Remus automatically followed her. For a few moments, he merely stood motionless behind her, considering the possibilities that could have caused her to be upset. But as he watched, her petite frame gave the tiniest of shudders and she sniffed.

"Tonks?"

Remus was cautious as he stepped round to stand beside her and loosely grasp her elbow. She didn't move away from him this time but didn't look at him either. Tonks was beautiful. There was no sense in denying it. Her pale skin showed to be perfect as the reflection of the flames danced over her heart-shaped face, and her eyes were soft and loving.

A single tear stopped halfway down her cheek. Remus lifted a hand slowly and brushed it away with his thumb.

"Tell me," he repeated gently, "please."

Tonks took a great shuddering breath and her lip trembled.

"Oh, Remus," she murmured in a whisper.

And then she turned and was in his arms. And Remus hadn't given a second thought to holding her; it had just felt right. Tonks buried her face in his shoulder as she cried softly, and for some time he rocked her patiently, his embrace secure.

"Shh," he comforted, rubbing her back a little. "It's all right. It's all right."

"I'm so sorry," she said thickly, her voice muffled against his robes. "I've… had… a really bad week, Remus… everything's just built up."

"Don't apologise."

He waited for the crying to subside, which it did fairly quickly. But he didn't let go. A voice in the back of his mind told him that he was alarmed at his contentment at being so close to her – a voice he ignored.

"My mother and father were attacked last night," said Tonks rather hoarsely. "It got to me a bit."

"_What_?" blurted Remus, making her jump. "Ted and Andromeda? Does Dumbledore know?"

Tonks shook her head and pulled back from him slightly so that she could look up into his eyes.

"They've fled the country for the time being. They managed to get into brief contact with me before they did – I'm the only one that knows. They didn't want to draw attention to the attack in case the attackers would be more tempted to strike again."

"But who—?" began Remus, but Tonks laughed hollowly.

"Death Eaters. I'm sure they'd be willing to carry out a little favour for _dear_ Bellatrix. Or it could be to get at me – I mean, my record for catching them and their associates is soaring by the week."

Frowning, Remus said, "I don't understand."

"Bellatrix Lestrange is my aunt," she admitted sourly. "My mother's sister. They've always detested each other, but marrying a muggle meant exclusion from the family for my mother."

"I had no idea."

"Whoever it was," said Tonks grimly, "my parents were lucky to get out alive. They burned down the house with them inside."

"Tonks, I – I'm so sorry." He squeezed her shoulders, trying to ignore the proximity of her face to his. "You need to tell Dumbledore."

"I know… I just haven't had chance. The office has been so busy after the death of Anita Billings and…" But her voice broke at the raw grief of the tragedy of her friend and she couldn't continue. "Bad week," she concluded bluntly before leaning back into Remus' body, laying her head back on his shoulder.

The ease with which she allowed this intimacy sent Remus' thoughts and senses reeling. Perhaps it was the butterbeer – or that she just needed him right now. It was against his better judgement that he raised a hand to stroke her hair, which smelled curiously of oranges.

"Thank you, Remus." He thought his heart might melt at the emotion – the gratitude, the appreciation – that welled in those three words. He lowered his hand.

Very slowly, Tonks raised her head again so that she was so, so close, and those eyes showed no reluctance when meeting his, now. And before he knew what was happening, their lips had met in a bittersweet, hesitant kiss. It began as a gentle press on hers, and another, and then they were kissing properly, but slowly.

Remus cupped her face in his large hands and wiped away the hot tears that lingered in a tender caress as they kissed. But some tears had found the way to her mouth. He tasted the sweetness of the butterbeer behind the salt. It had been a long time since he had kissed anyone, but here now like this with Tonks, every inch of his body felt the satisfaction and pleasure of the intimacy. He never wanted the moment to end.

But such moments were frequently spoiled. The bang of the kitchen door caused them both to jump violently. They separated swiftly. Sirius was stood by the door appearing quite shocked.

"Sirius!" Remus exclaimed, his voice high, betraying the feeling that he had been caught in some disallowed act.

Sirius grimaced as he realised he had revealed himself and cleared his throat loudly. Then he rapidly moved to the store cupboards.

"I was just – er – down here to get some supper."

Remus panicked. Sirius' interruption had brought reality screaming through the door with him. Afraid to steal a glance at a motionless Tonks, he set into action, aiming for the door, saving his thoughts concerning Tonks and what he had just done until he was alone.

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An impatient knocking – more of a hammering – woke Sirius up the following morning. He groaned loudly as he stirred on the lumpy mattress.

"What?!" he shouted out, annoyed.

The door opened and Ron entered, looking anxious.

"Ron," mumbled Sirius. Surprised, he hauled himself off the bed and rubbed his face vehemently to wake himself up. He hadn't slept too well in the night and, he noticed, hadn't even bothered to change his clothes for bed from the day before.

"Sirius," said Ron quickly, "sorry to bother you, mate, but it's Harry."

Instantly alert, Sirius pushed himself off the bed.

"What's wrong?" he asked sharply. He was already moving to the door.

"He just doesn't look too good," said Ron. "I would have got my mum but I can't find her anywhere."

Glancing at the old grandfather clock in the hallway as they moved hurriedly toward the staircase, Sirius wasn't shocked to find that he'd slept in late. It was 11am. They passed Remus' room and he noted that the door was shut. It was not like Remus to have failed to surface by 9 o'clock at the extreme latest.

"She'll be out getting supplies," he informed the younger man as he climbed the stairs three at a time. "She said she was going to go shopping."

When they got to Harry and Ron's room, Harry was still sleeping. But as he stepped closer Sirius could clearly see that his cheeks flushed a deep red and his skin shone in a thick layer of sweat; he was also twitching in his sleep and muttering.

Sirius placed a gentle hand on his godson's forehead to find that it burned with fiery heat.

"He's got a devil of a temperature," he told Ron. "Would you mind fetching a flannel and rinsing it out with cold water?"

Ron turned on his heel without question. Sirius pulled the covers off Harry to let him breathe. His t-shirt was dark and soaked; his breathing was shallow. Taking the cold compress from Ron and laying it over Harry's forehead, Sirius sighed as he realised that his godson was definitely not anywhere near the one hundred percent of his good health.


	4. Chapter Four

"God, Sirius, I feel like sh—"

Harry rapidly shut up as Mrs Weasley practically came running into the room and assessed the sight before her. It turned out that she had found it prudent to run a few pending errands that afternoon, and as such hadn't returned to Grimmauld Place until late evening, much to Sirius' aggravation who knowing she had seven children's worth of experience on her hands, had been hoping she could identify what was wrong with Harry.

Although he had woken up shortly after Sirius had discovered him to be ill, much to his embarrassment, his condition had worsened progressively throughout the day. His fever had gradually risen to a heat that could not be eased with cold water and he had vomited at least five times. A bucket now lay next to the bed, ready. In truth, Harry couldn't remember ever feeling worse – but then again, he had never truly been ill, regardless of the many injuries he had sustained over the past five years. Regrowing all the bones in one arm was nothing to the aches and pains that coursed through his entire body now.

Mrs Weasley's hair stuck up frizzily and her cheeks were flushed. After taking one glance at Harry lay in bed, she rounded on Ron and Hermione who had been sat anxiously with Harry and Sirius for the better part of the day.

"What are you two doing in here?" she demanded, evidently stressed. "We don't want whatever Harry has to be passed round like the plague!"

Harry smiled at this in spite of himself. If she was going to send them away, though, he didn't really mind. Weak and being sick was not something he particularly wanted his friends to see him as.

"Get out, now," she was saying to them both. "And Ron, you can sleep in Fred and George's room tonight."

"Relax, mum," Ron complained, "I think we would have caught it by now, don't you?"

"Out!" Mrs Weasley repeated, now turning to Harry.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance before standing up.

"See you later, Harry," she said a little begrudgingly. "Get better."

"Yeah, get well, mate", said Ron, shooting a nasty glance at his mother's back, "or I'll be sleeping on the floor for two weeks."

"Yeah. Thanks," said Harry weakly but glumly as they closed the door. Mrs Weasley descended, practically barging Sirius out of the way. When she placed a hand on his face, it was surprisingly rough but cool.

"High temperature," she muttered and frowned. "Harry, dear, how do you feel?"

He sighed; he was already sick of being asked that question.

"Like I've got the flu," he mumbled, "whatever that feels like." He had never had the flu.

"You might just have a sickness bug," she said sympathetically, and fussed with his covers so that they came higher up his chest. But he already felt like he was on fire and when she turned to say something to Sirius he shoved them off again.

"We'll just have to watch his fever and keep him drinking plenty of water."

"Yeah, we were kind of doing that today," said Sirius, sounding slightly annoyed that this was all she could offer.

Gently, Mrs Weasley brushed the hair back from his sweaty forehead. Although he could have sworn his cheeks burned deeper at the embarrassment of this motherly action whilst Sirius was present, her cool hands were soothing and vanquished some of the fire.

"Sirius," she said softly, "I know you won't have eaten all day. Go and have some dinner."

"I—" Harry's godfather hesitated, obviously not wanting to abandon him whilst he was ill. "All right. I won't be long."

"I'll be fine, Sirius," insisted Harry slightly frustratedly. How old did they think he was? He didn't _need_ a babysitter.

Obviously understanding some of Harry's annoyance, Sirius smiled half-apologetically as he rose.

"Of course you are," he acknowledged, and with a wink he plonked the bucket on the bedside cabinet next to him. "It's there if you need it."

Harry groaned, his voice hoarse due to the raw soreness of his throat, and looked away. He really _would _be needing it.

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A round of toast was all Sirius could bear to make, and after spreading the butter over it scarcely, it was like chewing a carpet sample. He knew it was irrational to worry about Harry – as it probably just was a sickness bug or virus, after all – but he found that with each day he become more and more protective of his best friend's son and godson. A mysterious illness was a danger, in his eyes. The person they _really_ needed here was Madam Pomfrey. He could remember the matron having never to have struggled when curing an illness or relieving a hex.

He gnawed his way through the dry hard bread thoughtfully, discarding the crusts and stirring them round on the plate. Then somebody cautiously opened the door and intruded on his solitude.

"Well, well, well," teased Sirius between hardcore chewing, "look what the cat dragged in."

Tonks shot him a glare and closed the door behind her. Her brown hair was wild and tangled and her travelling cloak was muddy. Dark shadows circled her eyes.

"I thought… well, that Remus might have shown his face by now," she admitted quietly. "He wasn't downstairs this morning, either."

"_Remus_ hasn't been out of his bedroom all day," said Sirius. "Where have you been?"

"To speak to Dumbledore, he's up at Hogwarts," she answered blandly, but Sirius could sense dejectedness in her voice following his reply. "He's given me a week off Order duties."

Sirius frowned. "How come?" It wasn't like his young cousin not to be enthusiastic about the work they were involved in with the Order.

She shrugged. "I have a week off from the office, too. He thought I looked tired and said I deserve a complete week off."

"It isn't as grand as it seems," said Sirius darkly. He wished he had something going on in his life to have a week off _from_. "So what's the plan? To stay here and try to win over Remus?"

Tonks sighed sharply and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs.

"I don't get it!" she exclaimed. "I thought I got the impression he liked me. But the look on his face after…"

Sirius pushed his plate away and pondered this.

"I wouldn't jump to the conclusion that he doesn't like you," he said in a kindlier manner then he was used to. "It's difficult for Remus."

"I understand that," Tonks said quietly. "But I know him. He must realise I don't care that he is what he is."

"But Remus does," Sirius pointed out. "In his eyes, his being a werewolf is everything stopping him from ever having a relationship. And, if I know him as well as I believe I do, he will have considered wealth and age factors, too."

"But I don't care!" snapped Tonks, angry now. Slight tears welled in her eyes and she wiped them, frustrated. "How can he be any more dangerous than he is to me already?"

Sighing, Sirius reached over and patted her arm.

"Cousin, you have to understand that Remus is not used to people being close to him. It's hard for him to let _anybody _in. He's too afraid of what he is, and what his condition may cause for somebody he cares about."

"I'm not bothered about what anybody thinks," she said sullenly. "I like him, werewolf or not. And if he does like me, then he shouldn't let that get in the way of anything."

Sirius smiled gravely, both at her slight naivety and her stubbornness.

"Perhaps you should speak to him yourself, then," he suggested gently, squeezing her arm, knowing full well that it would take a great deal of clever persuasion to convince his old friend that a more-than-platonic relationship was wise.

"If he'd show his face, I might."

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"Remus," called Sirius' voice, "it's me."

Remus sighed with relief that the loud knocking was Sirius and crossed the door to open it.

"Hey," said Sirius, "look at you hiding in your room."

"I'm not hiding," Remus retorted stubbornly.

"Tonks knows you're avoiding her," Sirius said smoothly. "She wants to talk to you."

A pained expression crossed Remus' face. "Well, I don't feel much like talking right now, thank you."

Sirius scratched his untidy hair and looked carefully at his friend.

"Moony, you should try getting close to somebody – it would do you good. You're thirty-five years old and never had a proper relationship!"

"And why do you think that is, Sirius?" Remus said slightly aggressively. "And from what I've seen, neither have you!"

"It was a little hard to meet people when confined in a solitary cell in Azkaban for twelve years," replied Sirius coolly.

There was an icy pause as the two men looked at each other. Then Remus' posture slumped and he fell backwards onto the bed.

"I'm sorry," he began quietly, "I didn't mean to—"

"And I think that you're like this because you're afraid both of something that would happen only in the unlikeliest of situations," said Sirius, talking about the danger of his monthly transformations into a violent creature, "and of the impact it would have upon _her_ life and respect, being known to be involved with a werewolf."

"I can't do that to her, Sirius," said Remus bitterly. "She's so young—a lot younger than me. Tonks can't afford to have her life ruined by the stigma attached to my condition. It would turn her world upside down."

"On the contrary, I think it would make her extremely happy. She doesn't care about what society thinks of her, Remus. I know she likes you a great deal, and she only wants you."

"The danger of my transformations isn't unlikely as you think," Remus pointed out harshly. "You of all people should know. I nearly killed Harry and Hermione that night you came back."

"_That_ night," said Sirius firmly, "was exceptional."

All the emotions running across Remus' face, tight and creased, were not difficult to pick out and analyse. Sirius felt saddened for his friend. He did understand the difficulty, whatever Remus thought. But he knew that the happiness it would provide the werewolf would be ten times worth the misgivings and guilt he felt about 'leading Tonks astray', as he would believe it to be.

"I don't know," Remus sighed. "I could never forgive myself if something happened…"

"Tonks, also, knows the risks," said Sirius, "and she believes they're worth taking."

"Do you think if she actually saw me as a fully-fledged vicious werewolf she would change her mind?" He half-laughed bitterly as he said this.

"She'd be cautious, I know she would." Sirius' voice was gentle. "She would be careful to avoid the danger."

Shaking his head, Remus threw his hands in the air in a violent shrug.

"What is it she even likes about me? I don't understand. I'm old, scarred, with no money or home to call my own. That's all on the list without my 'furry little problem'".

Smiling at the old nickname James had once given the lycanthropy, Sirius added, "You're also kind-hearted, caring, a hard worker, a brilliant wizard." He grinned at his friend. "You're also quite an attractive bloke, behind all those scars and wrinkles."

"Thank you, Sirius," said Remus mockingly, his face still grim.

"Seriously, though," Sirius ventured more solemnly, and walked forward to place a hand on his shoulder, "don't be afraid to get close to her. I have a good feeling about you two. Just… don't allow your condition to waste your life. You have a good chance for happiness here.

Remus gazed up at him as he considered his words.

"Thank you." The two words were meaningful, this time.

Sirius paused, his face probably betraying the fresh anxiety that crossed it.

"I also came to tell you that Harry isn't at all well."

"Why?" Remus frowned deeply. "What's wrong?

Sirius sighed. "He's sick," he told him. "His fever is sky high and he's vomiting a great deal."

"That explains why he looked so awful yesterday," Remus reflected empathetically. "Oh, Harry. He doesn't ever have it easy, does he?"

No. No, he didn't. Harry Potter was the world's unluckiest fifteen-year-old.

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Author's Note

Thank you so much for the reviews so far. I'm enjoying writing this little story! I'm starting another, darker story soon involving Sirius returning to the world and Harry back through the Veil, so if you're a Sirius fan, look out for that. Thank you again for reading.


	5. Chapter Five

"Sirius," muttered Remus, placing a rough hand on the other man's shoulder and shaking it, his other hand holding his wand aloft. He shuffled the long sleeves of his dressing gown from his wrists whilst he magically lit the candles in the small bedroom, as Sirius stirred having fallen asleep on Ron's vacated bed, clad in his muggle jeans and t-shirt from the previous day.

"Mmm?" Sirius mumbled, half-opening his eyes.

Remus was already next to Harry's bed where the occupant jerked and writhed on his mattress. The bedcovers had been wound into twisted knots and Harry was shaking and grasping fistfuls of the cotton as he mumbled incoherently in his sleep.

"I wasn't asleep and I could hear him talking all the way from my room," hissed Remus.

"I didn't mean to doze off," whispered Sirius slightly defensively. "Is he having nightmares again?"

"Looks like it," said Remus lowly. He felt Harry's red cheeks with the back of his fingers before moving them to locate the younger man's pulse at the base of his neck.

But Harry wrenched away from the touch and gave a small cry of anguish.

"Dad," he muttered in a voice so quiet that only Remus' astute hearing could pick up the words, "get away. Dad…"

Remus glanced at Sirius to see if he had heard, whose face was very white.

"He's coming…" Writhing, Harry whimpered then as he dreamt, which made Remus decide to bend lower and tap his face sharply.

"Wake up, Harry," he said loudly. "Wake up." He shook the younger man's shoulders then but even this did nothing to stir him.

"No…stop." Harry's voice became more desperate as Remus became more desperate to wake him. "Please…I didn't…"

"Harry!" he half-yelled.

Then out of nowhere a splash of water was thrown right past Remus' ear onto Harry's face, soaking him. Harry woke with a start. When he opened his eyes, tears coursed down his cheeks mingling with the fresh water. He instantly jumped up in his bed and to both mens' astonishment, dived into Remus' arms, breathing shallowly.

Shocked, Remus looked to Sirius who was still standing and holding onto his wand. Not really knowing what to do and feeling more than a little out of place, he held onto Harry and simply held him tightly. He clung to Remus as if his life depended on it.

"He was going to kill them," he whispered hoarsely. "And it was my fault… I opened the door at the end of the corridor…"

It was obvious that Harry was not himself – Remus would be surprised if he remembered this incident in the morning – and was perhaps even delirious. Therefore he didn't ask about the dream, but rubbed Harry's shoulders before pushing him back onto the pillows gently as his grip slackened and the strength left him.

"It wasn't your fault, Harry," he told him calmly, then pointed his wand at the boy's t-shirt which was ringing wet. "Freshio." Immediately the clothing was dry and fresh as if it had been washed and ironed.

"I don't care what Dumbledore says," Sirius fumed, pacing determinedly, "we need to put him in an enchanted sleep. I'm sick of seeing him suffer with these nightmares! Just until he's better…"

But Remus shook his head. He had conjured a cloth out of thin air and was soaking it with the same spell that Sirius had used, but with careful precision.

"That would be dangerous," he pondered aloud. "We wouldn't be able to wake him if we needed to, and with his fever this high we need to know if he is conscious or not."

He cast a spell on the cloth that would keep it permanently ice cool and layered it slowly onto Harry's forehead. The ill teenager had immediately shut his eyes and fallen into what seemed to be a more peaceful sleep. As Remus did this, he accidentally spotted something behind the line of Harry's t-shirt, on his collar bone. Carefully he peeled back the collar as Sirius ranted without paying attention behind him. The animagus' footsteps echoed lowly in the hollowness below the old wooden floorboards.

"It's hopeless," Sirius was saying vehemently, "we're locked up here in this dungeon with no medical…"

"Sirius," said Remus softly.

The other man halted mid-sentence and mid-step and came over to the bed, to peer over Remus' head at what had grasped his attention.

"What _is_ that?" Sirius asked, wrinkling up his nose disgustedly.

When Remus answered, his voice was grim.

"Unless I'm much mistaken, _those_ are dragonpox blisters."

"_Dragon_pox? You're kidding, right?"

"No. My cousin had it whilst he was staying with us, once. His rash looked exactly the same as this does when he first became ill."

It was subtle, but the large blisters that were dotted along Harry's collarbone, clustered together in places, showed a greenish tinge surrounded by blotches of redness. Remus lifted Harry's t-shirt up to find another small patch on his stomach but other than that, his chest was clear.

"My cousin was absolutely covered, though," he added thoughtfully, "but Harry doesn't seem to be so bad…"

"Touchwood," said Sirius sourly, looking worried.

"Well, at least we know what's wrong," Remus sighed, and lowered Harry's t-shirt before facing Sirius, "but I cannot say I feel comforted. Dragonpox can be really serious after immediate childhood."

"It was bad enough_ in_ childhood," said Sirius, and shuddered at the obvious memories of the illness. "You've had it before, haven't you? Because if not…"

But Remus shook his head slowly and smiled a smile that he knew did not quite enlighten his eyes, but would nevertheless emphasise the premature wrinkles there.

"My being a werewolf provides an immunity to most common diseases such as dragonpox. The St. Mungo's doctor who came to the house to treat my cousin was quite… imminent… to point that out."

Truthfully, the doctor had informed his parents of such immunity and then had immediately slated their evident relief by stating that he, personally as a doctor, still would not have allowed Remus anywhere near the other child, his cousin, as he was 'permanently contagious' anyway. For Remus, this had only been the beginning of a long list of incidents in which he had been accused, mocked, prejudiced or shunted by various members or whole groups of the wizarding society.

"From what I know, though," said Remus, shaking the more personal thoughts, "it's extremely contagious and easy to merely carry. I'm betting Hermione, for one, has never had it having been brought up by muggles."

Sirius nodded. "They'll have to go to the Burrow," he stated in a tone that agreed with the subtle suggestion. "I wonder where Harry caught it from, though? He hasn't been in contact with dragon blood, so it must be from someone else."

"Anywhere, I suppose," Remus shrugged, adjusting the cloth on Harry's forehead. "He could have picked it up when we visited St. Mungo's."

Sirius rubbed his eyes with two forceful forefingers.

"This is great," he said sarcastically, "just great. How long did it take for your cousin to get better?"

"Ralph was… fairly ill," Remus admitted heavily. "He was taken to St. Mungo's in the end. From what I remember, he was seriously ill for a week, approximately."

Remus watched as Sirius frowned anxiously, his eyes darting to Harry at the possibility of his godson being seriously ill, and then jumped up.

"In that case," he said darkly, "Dumbledore needs to be prepared to arrange transportation and security."

As Sirius stormed across the short space, Remus grabbed his arm.

"It's the middle of the night," he reminded him strictly.

"Dumbledore has always been up when we've needed him before."

"Sirius, you know he'll never have it."

There was a pause in which Harry shuffled in his sleep. Afraid of his friend's infamous rising temper, Remus' gaze nevertheless did not waver, as he was more afraid of the actions Sirius would take if he was allowed to leave. Narrowing his eyes, Sirius yanked his arm away.

"It's always about 'Harry's safety', 'keeping Harry hidden'," he said harshly. "But _no one_ seems to be concerned about Harry's health besides me! Isn't that just as important?"

"Of course it is," Remus agreed, trying not to become impatient, as he knew it would do no good, "although that comment was a little unfair."

"Sorry. But this is serious, Remus," Sirius said shortly. "Do you not remember how Mr and Mrs Potter – Harry's grandparents – died?"

Remus stopped mid-way through inhaling a deep breath and stared. In truth, he had forgotten that dragonpox had turned out to be fatal for James' parents shortly before Harry had been born. But they had been older…

"Yes," snapped Sirius, annoyed at his silence and breaking it with a sharp ring, "it's that critical. Harry could die from this if he doesn't receive the right treatment!"

"Dumbledore would never allow it to come to that… and Harry isn't even at that stage yet…"

"We shouldn't let it even get to that stage!" Sirius cried, and pointed at the subject of their debate who remained asleep albeit restless. "Look at him… his fever is only getting worse. He needs to go to the hospital!"

"And give Lord Voldemort the keys to his doom?" Remus demanded furiously.

It only occurred to him that they had been arguing in raised voices when the door opened hesitantly.

"Tonks," said Sirius, half-relieved.

Remus, too, was glad it wasn't Molly who had entered, knowing her maternal, good-hearted fussing would have zoomed Sirius to the end of his tether. Tonks stole a cautious glance at Remus, who was currently too anxious to feel awkward or bothered that he had not yet spoken to her since the scene in the kitchen the previous night, but it was Sirius then to whom she spoke.

"I heard arguing," she said pointedly.

Sirius scoffed, and then Tonks noticed Harry who appeared as if he had been hexed with a reddening spell.

"Is he no better?" she asked, a little wildly, and bent down to touch his forehead. "Gosh, he's roasting."

"He has dragonpox," explained Remus before Sirius could open his mouth. "Look underneath his collar."

Tonks sighed as she took a quick look at the rash and turned to face them.

"This isn't good," she said quietly.

"You're telling me," Sirius muttered under his breath.

"He needs to be watched. And…well, you're going to need to call Severus."

"_Snape_?" spat Sirius as if the name conjured a foul taste in his mouth.

"For Gunhilda potion?" said Remus, realising and nodding.

"Yes," said Tonks calmly, ignoring Sirius. "The potion won't cure it, but it'll be effective. If he drinks it soon, his symptoms should be less severe."

"And why can't we just go to Diagon—?"

Tonks frowned at Sirius reproachfully.

"Apart from the fact that it would be a terrible waste of one of the best potion makers in the wizarding world, who also knows the most effective dosages, nobody administers Gunhilda potion except for St. Mungo's."

"Then why can't we take Harry there…just to be seen?"

But Remus was already considering the problem. If they were to take Harry to hospital, he may be so severe that they would want to keep him there in the ward. If they took him away again against the recommendations of the medical staff, the public would uproar following this information in the Daily Prophet, and Dumbledore would be targeted for lack of best interests for his student. Quickly, he explained this to Sirius who proceeded to grind his teeth.

"So it's Harry's health against the reputation of Dumbledore?" he half-growled.

"No, Sirius," Tonks said sternly, as Remus became irate with his friend. "But the simple solution is to ask Severus to brew the potion. Dumbledore is in enough trouble with the Ministry and public as it is. Everybody knows he's responsible for Harry and his whereabouts."

Sirius ran a firm hand through his thick hair and clenched his fist.

"I don't like the idea of Harry drinking something Snape's brewed," he admitted more quietly, which Remus took as a welcome sign that he was calming down. "You know… I mean, how do we know it's safe?"

"Snape would never harm Harry," Remus said confidently, with an air of finality to that particular topic. "We'll contact him and Dumbledore in the morning and ask them to come over. Meanwhile, we just need to watch over Harry, keep his temperature at bay and that's the best we can do for him for the present."

As Sirius looked up gravely, his eyes were very red and bloodshot from where he had been rubbing them, and he was ghostly pale.

"You look exhausted, Sirius," Tonks observed, voicing his thoughts. "Why don't you sleep in your own room for a while?"

"No," he objected shortly, "I'm fine, I just haven't slept well lately…"

"Tonks is right, you need to rest," Remus said gently. "You're no good to Harry if you're nodding off." Ignoring the glare he suddenly received, he continued, "I can watch over him, I wasn't sleeping anyway – I can sleep tomorrow. I'll come and get you if there's any major change."

His shoulders slumping in defeat, Sirius sighed, then nodded and looked to Harry anxiously.

"All right… I'll try and get some sleep."

"I'll see you in the morning," said Remus as his friend crossed to the door.

And after a last glance towards Harry, Sirius left, leaving him alone with Tonks and Harry. For a long moment they looked at one another warily in the faded light. Tonks' hair was mousy brown and Remus was beginning to miss her usual shine and the bright plum, short locks that reflected her personality well.

"Remus, I—"

"I'm sorry for last night," he interrupted her, and he heard the own casual tone and blandness in his voice that masked the contrary feelings that burned inside him. "I shouldn't have… well, it was a —"

"Don't," she snapped, "don't you dare say that."

His insides ached at the tears that suddenly sparkled in her eyes, but he shrugged slightly, truly not knowing what to say.

"I know what the problem is," she said quietly after a moment. "But _that _doesn't bother me. This bothers me." Waving her hand in front of her, she was clearly referring to the physical and not-so-physical distance between them.

"I'm sorry," Remus said heavily, "but I can't… I can't risk hurting you, Tonks… no matter how much I want…"

It was surprising that he didn't feel awkward, that he could meet her angry and upset eyes evenly, that he could so openly talk about his feelings and state that he just could _not_. It was heartbreaking, though, when she smiled a watery smile and brushed his hand briefly as she made to leave the room – and the simple touch sent pleasant electric prickles through his skin, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"You know where I am," she murmured softly from the door, and then she was gone.

And Remus was focused as he conjured a wooden chair out of thin air; he sat in it purposefully, trying to shake off the feeling that threatened to consume him every time Tonks was in the room with him, and turned his attention acutely to his deceased friend's sick teenage son. Life was exceedingly unfair.

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Author's Note:

It may be a good week or longer before I can update again, due to too much working and not enough writing time, so I'm sorry about this. I'm also not sure whether to change this to a Remus & Tonks story rather than keeping it as a Harry & Sirius one. However, there will be more interaction between Harry and Sirius's characters so we'll have to see how it goes. Thank you so much for making the effort to review!


	6. Chapter Six

The first thing Harry was aware of when he awakened was the dryness of his mouth; his throat ached with thirst. Following this, he noticed that his skin stung all over as if he had been bitten hundreds of times in the night, and his limbs were heavy and useless. He opened his eyes and squinted painfully despite the extremely dim light, and groaned inwardly when he realised his expectation of a goblet at the side of his bed was false. Even though he was virtually blind without his glasses, there was definitely nothing there. He tried to move but it only resulted in the profound sensation that he was about to vomit.

"Ron?" he rasped, but immediately remembered that Ron had been banished from sharing his room. He gulped to steady his stomach. But then he heard the bed shuffle anyway and light footsteps crossed the floor.

"Harry, you're awake," a hoarse voice said. Remus.

"Glasses?"

"Of course!"

A moment passed in which there was more shuffling and then his glasses were slid carefully onto his sweaty face. Remus' face was not at all far from his own and he looked deeply concerned.

"How are you feeling?" came the expected question. Harry brought a hand up to his forehead to wipe it shakily.

"Like I'm dying," he admitted, trying to smile but failing. "Need water," he added in a whisper.

Remus nodded in understanding and stood up straight.

"I'll fetch you some, Harry," he said earnestly. "I said I'd wake Sirius anyway…"

It seemed an age before Remus returned carrying a large goblet with an alert Sirius at his wake. Thankfully, his godfather spared him the effort of answering the repetitive 'how do you feel?' question, but swooped down over him nevertheless.

"Hey, kiddo," Sirius said quietly, "it's nice to see you awake."

"How long was I asleep?" Harry managed as he tried to sit up.

Sirius grabbed his arms and helped him shift to rest against the headboard, and kept a supporting arm around his shoulders as he lowered himself to sit on the mattress which sunk uncomfortably under the combined weight. Harry was presently too weak and dizzy to feel embarrassed.

"About twelve hours," said Remus, glancing at his watch as he passed the goblet to Sirius. "Padfoot – I'm going to go to speak to Molly – and then call Snape and Dumbledore."

A serious look passed between them. Sirius nodded gravely.

"Go."

As Remus swept from the room, Sirius raised the goblet to Harry's mouth and helped him drink the cool water. Harry was so thirsty, that even when he had finished the entire goblet the ache in his throat was not eased.

"Better?"

"Still thirsty," Harry admitted.

"Leave it a while before you drink more. You might make yourself sick."

Harry sighed. Even this hurt.

"What's wrong with me?" he murmured, closing his eyes.

"Dragonpox," Sirius told him heavily. He picked up his arm loosely and brought it to Harry's face. "Look."

The patch of green angry pustules that certainly had not been present the last time he had investigated his arm suddenly repulsed him, but Harry said nothing; he could not summon the energy.

"You were having some quite intense dreams last night," said Sirius gently, feeling Harry's forehead. "Is it worse because you're ill?"

Harry closed his eyes again and tried not to remember – and wished his godfather had not stirred such thoughts. All his sleep consisted of at the moment was watching the deaths of his parents, of Cedric Diggory, and sometimes of his friends who were alive; sometimes he even witnessed his own death. Most of the time he was Harry, an onlooker… but sometimes… well, more and more frequently, he was…

"Probably," he forced himself to answer, "but they're always bad."

"Maybe we could—"

"Sirius," Harry interrupted in a whisper, needing to get this off his chest. "Is it wrong to— I mean, sometimes when I dream—it's like the vision with Mr Weasley. I see places I've never been to. Sometimes… I_ am_ Voldemort."

Sirius shifted and slammed the empty goblet onto the bedside cabinet. Harry jumped.

"Harry," he said sternly, "you are not Lord Voldemort, and you are _not _a bad person. We can't control our dreams. You're probably dreaming this way because of how you saw the vision."

"I suppose," said Harry hoarsely. He was starting to feel really sick again. "But sometimes I just have this feeling… that Voldemort's kind of in my mind… even though nothing has been as distinct as when I saw Mr Weasley's attack." When Sirius said nothing, Harry continued rashly, "I know it sounds stupid, but I just think I can sense him there."

There was a strong silence and Harry had the feeling that Sirius was uncharacteristically lost for words. But then he felt his shoulder being rubbed slightly.

"You don't want to be thinking about this now, we can talk about it later," said his godfather firmly.

Harry wanted to point out that it was he who had brought the topic of his dreams up, but still did not have the energy for speech that wasn't necessary, and could feel an ominous bitter taste at the base of his throat that made him stomach churn as if it were being spun.

"I need the bathroom," he said urgently, "now."

One of the good things about Sirius was that he didn't question these sorts of requests. Instead, he simply slipped off the bed and gripped Harry tightly around the back and chest.

"I should be ok…" Harry began weakly, and lowered his feet to the floor.

Sirius snorted. "Ok, Buckbeak's arse," he said. "No offence, Harry, but you wouldn't have the strength to lift your wand arm right now."

Harry nodded slightly and tried to concentrate on shifting his weight onto his legs, which wobbled like jelly. But Sirius was strong and practically carried him across the bedroom to the door.

"See," Sirius teased lightly.

When they reached the bathroom across the hall, even though Harry had barely used his legs he felt as if he had run a marathon, and he collapsed over the sink, gripping the stone sides tightly with his hands as Sirius hovered anxiously. The mirror over the sink revealed a worse sight than he had been expecting. His reflection showed dark green dragonpox on his forehead adjacent to his scar which had turned the skin around the patch an evil purple. The skin that was clear of pustules held a nasty greenish tinge, besides from his cheeks which were flushed blood-red.

And he did feel hot; his skin burned and he felt sticky with the perpetual sweating. He twisted the tap on and briefly splashed cold water over his face.

"Sirius," he croaked, "you can leave me for a second."

"All right," Sirius acknowledged. "I'll go and get you some fresh clothes, shall I?"

"Please."

Sirius left and Harry hurriedly used the toilet, before peeling off his sweat-stained t-shirt and flinging it onto the floor. This slight action left him dizzy and reeling. He quickly sat on the edge of the bathtub to steady his head… but the nausea was already rising…

Like a bullet, he dived onto the floor in front of the toilet and heaved. There were few experiences worse than being unable to stop one's body from vomiting. As he was sick numerous times, his throat burned like fire; tears stung his eyes and mingled in with the sweat on his face. He barely even heard the knock on the door.

"Harry!"

Sirius came to kneel on the floor beside him and supported his shoulders, but Harry was barely aware as his stomach wrenched up its acid to his throat again and again. His godfather rubbed his back in circles soothingly.

Eventually, it stopped, and Harry was left gasping for breath and utterly drained. He slumped but luckily Sirius was there to pull him into his arms, who had grabbed a tissue for him to wipe his mouth, and also smeared the tears away from his cheeks. Harry sniffed and tasted more bile.

"I want to die," he panted painfully.

"I know. I know, kid," Sirius said, sympathy ringing in his voice behind the concern. "But it looks like the worst is over."

"It better be."

"Let's get you freshened up and then back to bed."

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"Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, go and pack up your things. We're heading to the Burrow."

"Are your things in Harry's room, Ron?" Remus asked, frowning.

"No, I moved them to Fred and George's! But why are we leaving? Dad isn't out of hospital yet?"

They were stood in the kitchen, and Molly was stressed. Fred and George looked bewildered.

"He'll be out in a couple of days anyway," Remus soothed. "We've realised that Harry has dragonpox, and it's far too contagious for you to stay here."

"Poor Harry," Fred and George said in unison.

"We've all had it!" Ron said defiantly. "Well, apart from…"

"Why, thank you, Ron," said Hermione coolly.

"You can still carry it even if you have had it before," Remus told them firmly, "and we don't want to be infecting the whole of Hogwarts, now, do we?"

"But what about Harry?" Hermione questioned, worry etched into her face. "How is he?"

"Harry is quite ill. But we'll look after him. He's awake now so at least that's something."

"Can we say bye?" asked Ron glumly.

"Don't be stupid, Ron!" snapped Molly. "That would defeat the object of leaving!"

"So we're not going to see him until we're back at school?" Hermione sounded deflated.

"Probably not, no," said Remus heavily. "I'll tell him goodbye for you, though."

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"Ah, Sirius, Remus," Dumbledore greeted a little more solemnly than Remus was used to as the two of them filed into the kitchen and seated themselves at the large table.

Sirius pulled his chair out steadily so that it scraped horrendously on the tiled floor, eyeing Snape—who had chosen to sit at the furthest end of the table away from Tonks—with a familiar look of malicious contempt. It was so contorted that a snarl was half-formed there and Snape's face was a perfect match to Sirius'. Despite this, the Potions' master gave a small stiff nod as they entered over of his long interlocking fingers rested on the table. Dumbledore was not sat, but stood opposite them twiddling a gold ring on his finger, ever with the air of authority.

"I am awfully sorry for being so late," Dumbledore apologised lightly once the noise had settled. "Unfortunately I was busy chasing our dear Mundungus Fletcher, whom I am afraid has decided to abandon his watch tonight."

"Dung is hopeless. Unreliable isn't a strong enough word," Tonks sighed, and although it was subtle her hair turned a darker shade of brown. "Do you want me to take over for tonight?"

"My dear Nymphadora, I was under the impression you were pleased when I suggested you take a week off…"

"Yes," said Tonks, definitely not looking at Remus, "but I don't have a lot else to do, and if there's no one else…"

"I was going to ask you in the absence of a volunteer, Remus," said Dumbledore, outstretching his hand.

"I—" Taken aback, Remus could not admit that he was pleased at this news having already taken three watches over the prophecy in the previous week, but… well, what needed to be done had to be done. "Yes. Of course I will."

"No, Remus, it's fine," Tonks insisted but still she avoided his eyes. "You were watching over Harry all night—you're tired. I'll do it."

"Very well," Dumbledore said and smiled at her. "I cannot thank you enough, Dora. Such a blessing you are!"

Tonks cringed a little at the shortened use of her disliked first name but nodded and smiled back at the headmaster.

"Is Harry all right?" Dumbledore asked then, a little more sharply as he turned away from her and looked to Sirius.

"Well, no. He seems to have caught dragonpox," Sirius informed him, tearing his fuming gaze away from Snape. "But… well, to be honest, Dumbledore, he's quite… quite ill."

"How bad is he?"

The small crease behind those half-moon spectacles and between the bushy white eyebrows told Remus that the old wizard cared about, and was anxious about Harry's welfare, a great deal more than he would reveal to Sirius and perhaps even to Harry himself.

He supposed that on one hand, Dumbledore was expected to perceive Harry as one of his hundreds of students – perhaps within the handful of students whose parents he had once worked closely with and known well – but on the other, the headmaster had come to favour the boy who from being a baby had been under his watchful eyes and dictation, and who had proven again and again to be even more remarkable, courageous and good-hearted than his father. Remus had to admit, Harry did have such an effect on people. After all he had been through, he was unbelievably selfless and determined. It was difficult _not_ to both like and respect James' only son.

When Sirius answered, his voice amplified his annoyance. If Harry was ill, in his eyes the question of _how_ ill he was not the desired reaction, as the fact that there was merely something wrong was enough to make him worried and so should it everybody else, particularly Dumbledore. But Remus knew that Sirius frequently read Dumbledore mistakenly.

"His fever is high, he's not keeping water down, he's vomiting, he's unconscious… Should I go on?"

"How touching that you become so… animated… when it comes to Potter, Black," said Snape from the end of the table, voice dripping with that unique sarcasm. "My heart bleeds."

"That will do, Severus," said Dumbledore sharply.

"He needs to go to St. Mungo's," Sirius demanded. His voice was raised and his teeth were clenched but he had, quite unusually, not risen to Snape's taunts, probably because he wanted to maintain his respect within the discussion as it was so important for Harry's sake.

Dumbledore sighed and pierced Sirius with a stern, but understanding, gaze.

"We cannot take Harry there. It is simply too dangerous."

"It may be dangerous if he doesn't receive the right attention!" Sirius snapped, folding his arms and swinging back in his chair. "You don't realise how ill he is, Dumbledore."

"And do you realise the extent of the danger he would be in if he were to be kept there?" Dumbledore questioned, sternly but gently, as he raised his eyebrows at Sirius. "Do you realise that Lord Voldemort may act on such an opportunity to seize him?"

"That's true," Tonks pointed out. "You can't exactly place a Fidilus charm on St. Mungo's, can you?"

"And there's no chance of keeping it secret," added Remus. "As soon as the press get wind that their favourite subject of the times is ill, the Daily Prophet will have it splashed out across their front pages."

"What I suggested last night," continued Sirius as if he had not heard any of them, "is that we simply take him there, to be seen. They may be able to recommend help—or give us an idea of how to treat him."

"This, still," pointed out Dumbledore, who was swaying slightly and looking up at the ceiling as if in a reverie of thought, "would be unavoidable in terms of the headlines."

"And, naturally, you're worried about being blamed for taking the wrong action for your student—by dragging him out of hospital when he needs to remain there."

Remus sucked in a large breath, knowing that his friend went too far sometimes.

"Sirius—"

"This is, indeed, one reason," Dumbledore interrupted quietly, looking at Sirius again as if he was searching for something, "but a minor one in comparison. I do not wish Lord Voldemort to know that Harry is weakened—that is, if he has not discovered this for himself already. I believe he would penetrate his mind without a second's hindrance, as a weakened mind is an uncomplicated target. I very much doubt this would be beneficial for Harry's condition. "

"Do you really think Voldemort is getting into Harry's mind?" Sirius questioned, but his tone had changed, and it was not sceptical but grave.

"Certainly, he did, when Harry witnessed Arthur Weasley's attack," said Dumbledore serenely. "Whether he is aware of this connection, I am unsure, but it is only a matter of time. I dread to think of what he would implant in Harry's mind, knowing it is easy to access, manipulate and even control. I do not wish to take such a risk, for Harry's sake, and for the sake of others'."

Sirius sighed heavily.

"Harry told me—that he felt he was sensing Lord Voldemort inside him. That he perhaps sees what Voldemort sees in his sleep."

"Did he describe these dreams?" Dumbledore asked sternly, but seemed unsurprised.

Sirius shook his head. "He didn't give specifics; he just said that he saw things from Voldemort's point of view."

"Of course, they may merely be dreams," said Dumbledore softly, nodding, "but it is also quite possible he is glimpsing Lord Voldemort's thoughts. And it is the, ah, 'vice versa', that concerns me. I have plans to help Harry block these thoughts and visions from his mind once he is back at school."

"How?" Remus frowned as he noticed Snape pull an unhappy face, and from this familiar sight it took him a split-second for him to guess the solution. "Occlumency?"

"Precisely," said Dumbledore, who glanced at Snape. "In the meantime, we need to keep the knowledge of his illness a secret."

Remus looked sideways at Sirius. He could tell his friend remained unhappy, but also understood the greater debate between Harry's health and Harry's safety. A priority between these could not be pinpointed.

"What about Madam Pomfrey, Albus?" Remus suddenly asked, wondering why they did not move Harry to Hogwarts for the remainder of the holidays. "She must have treated dragonpox before."

"Alas, Poppy is holidaying in Australia with her family," said Dumbledore gravely, the inconvenience of this present in his voice. "I could call her back, and will do if absolutely necessary, but I am reluctant to. To her—without meaning to imply that she is insensitive, of course—Harry Potter is just another student. She will not understand why we cannot take him to St. Mungo's instead."

"It would be pretty difficult moving Harry like this anyway," added Tonks.

Remus, and Sirius, both nodded. Then, out of the blue, Snape spoke in his dull, prolonged tones and everybody's head whipped around to face him.

"I can only summon a guess as to why you have asked me here today. But, then, surely not?"

"Will you make the potion?" asked Remus impatiently.

"Gunhilda _is_ a relatively simple potion to make," Snape contemplated in a long drawl. "However… being the Dark Lord's full-time servant allows me very little time for such… _insignificant_ tasks."

"Insignificant tasks?" snarled Sirius, fists curling into balls. "What's that supposed to mean, _Snape_?"

Snape's lip curled up into a nasty smile. "That I have no personal care for Potter and his health… whatsoever…"

"Enough," commanded Dumbledore. "Severus, how soon can the potion be ready for?"

"This afternoon," said Snape, his smile fading. "I believe I have to 'drop in' with a potion for a certain werewolf, anyway. I suppose the, ah, inconvenience is only doubled."

"Thank you, Severus," said Remus quietly, albeit gratefully.

"I assure you, Lupin, if I weren't under heavy instruction to brew the potion for you, you would be making the effort to do it yourself."

"Like you did last month, you mean?" demanded Tonks suddenly.

Sirius flew up in his chair angrily as she said this, but Remus wrenched him back down. They needed Snape to make this potion for Harry; they could ignore his purposeful jibes.

"I trust you will all remain civilised," Dumbledore said, the hint of a command beneath his light words. "Sirius, Remus, I would like frequent updates on Harry's condition, please, no matter how busy I am."

"Yes, Dumbledore," said Sirius, who was seething and had turned an ugly beetroot colour. "I'm going to get back to Harry now…"

"I'll join you," said Remus firmly, and rose in his seat to follow Sirius upstairs.


	7. Chapter Seven

When Snape returned later that afternoon, Sirius did not feel particularly grateful that Harry was asleep. It was unsurprising, really; his fever was dangerously high once again and he was dreaming deliriously. At least with Harry present and conscious, Sirius felt he shared an ally in terms of detesting his old enemy; but then he cursed himself for being so selfish. Snape was here to help Harry, after all, and Remus too. But even when the Potions' Professor entered the small bedroom with his long hooked nose poking around the door, Sirius couldn't help scowling and receiving a scathing scowl in return.

"Touching," Snape drawled as he stepped closer to Harry's bed. "You refuse to leave his bedside even when he's sleeping."

"Why did you feel the need to come up here?" demanded Sirius coldly, crossing his arms. "You could have left the potion in the kitchen, couldn't you?"

"I thought Potter may need to drink some immediately," Snape responded curtly. "But as he is asleep…" He waved his wand slowly and a small cauldron levitated through the door, followed by a cautious Remus. It gently plonked onto the wooden floor beside the bed.

"Thank you, Severus." It was not difficult to hear the gratefulness in Remus' honest voice.

"I cannot say he looks any worse than usual," said Snape, looking down his nose at Harry whose face was now completely covered in purple spots and tinged green, "but then, Potter does like to play the weakened card quite frequently, does he not?"

"Just get out, will you?" Sirius growled, causing Snape to smirk nastily.

"My my, what a loyal _dog_ you are…"

"How often does he need to drink it?" interrupted Remus over Sirius' growls before a familiar fully-blown argument could erupt.

Still smirking, Snape pulled a small twinkling vial out of the inside of his long black robes and handed it to Remus.

"You should issue him with one vial per exact hour. He should continue taking the potion up until the pox become itchy, at which time the other symptoms, and particularly his fever and sickness, should have disappeared. Ensure that the lid of the cauldron is kept on for the majority of the time so that the potion remains smoking."

"Excellent," smiled Remus when Sirius said nothing.

"You should wake him now so that he can begin the course immediately," Snape said as he turned to leave the room. "Yours is downstairs in the kitchen, Lupin. I trust you know…"

"How often to take it and how to heat it up," Remus nodded, and continued to smile. "Thanks very much, Severus."

Snape did not return the smile. His face set like stone, he stole a final icy glance at Sirius before sweeping from the room gracefully. Remus released a heavy sigh of relief when once he had left.

"I have to say," he said with raised eyebrows, "you were extremely well behaved, in comparison to usual."

"I still don't like this, Remus!" Sirius said angrily. "Just say Snape really is on Voldemort's side… how in Merlin's name can we be sure that potion isn't meant to harm Harry?"

Irritated, Remus shot him a stern look.

"How many times, Sirius? Dumbledore trusts Snape," he reminded him, frowning, "therefore, so should we. Besides, Snape said that Voldemort wishes to be the one to… well, I'm not going to say it, but you know what he reported."

"It could all be lies, all of it!"

"I don't believe that," said Remus calmly. "And neither do you. You are merely blinded by hatred."

Sirius rose from the spare bed then, his face contorted, and snatched the tiny vial from Remus' hand. Opening the lid of the cauldron, he lowered his hand and scooped some of the potion into the vial. It was a deep green colour and smoking.

"Well, it certainly isn't a Draught of Living Death," remarked Remus dryly.

Sirius narrowed his eyes as he forced the stopper into the neck of the vial before thrusting it into Remus' hands once again. He knew he could be stubborn and a sulk, especially in front of his old friend Remus, but he just really did not like or would ever fully trust Snape. How could he, when the Dark Mark was scorched onto the man's forearm, blackening his skin with that evil brand and meaning? It was the sign of the same evil that had murdered James and Lily.

Dumbledore had never shared his reasoning as to why he trusted his spy and Hogwarts teacher whom he frequently, and diligently, defended. Until he did reveal his evidence for Snape's goodness and pure intentions, Sirius could think of no personal reason to expand his own precious trust. Trust was something that had been harrowingly broken for him once before—and by somebody whom he had never, ever expected: a friend. If this was someone he _did_ expect to betray them all, who was and always had been an enemy, then he had to exert caution to the highest extremes.

Picking up an abandoned goblet from the floor, Sirius ignored Remus' disbelieving gaze as he dipped it into the green potion and filled it only slightly. Having evidently heeded Snape's advice, he did not forget to close the cauldron lid. Then he drained the small amount he had collected and smacked his lips.

"Still feel alive?" Remus asked, uncharacteristically sarcastically.

There was a slight pause in which Sirius mentally assessed his body.

"You think we should wait awhile?" he asked darkly, waving his arms to test them, but this only made Remus raise one eyebrow and smile amusedly.

"This is ridiculous," he commented.

Sirius shrugged. "I have to be sure when it comes to Harry," he said seriously.

"To be honest," sighed Remus, taking out his wand with his spare hand, "I think the time it will take to wake him will provide you with more than sufficient testing time." He pointed his wand at Harry's chest. "Rennervate."

Nothing happened. Closing his eyes, Remus then muttered something almost silently as he waved his wand three times over Harry's body as if in slow motion. These were spells that Sirius had never found the need to learn but had watched Madam Pomfrey perform on several occasions during their Hogwarts days. They assessed the state of the body, and also of the mind when used with more complexity and knowledge than Remus was doing so now.

"His body temperature is at a-hundred-and-four," he reported, lowering his wand and chewing on his bottom lip.

Sirius strode over to the bed and shook Harry roughly.

"Harry! Come on! _Harry_."

Harry's mouth opened slightly but his eyes did not open.

"Sorry, kid," Sirius muttered as he took out his wand and pointed it directly over his godson.

The next moment, cold water showered out from the tip of his wand. It sprinkled all over Harry and the bedsheets, soaking them through, but he held it there for a good few minutes in an attempt to cool him down. He only vaguely noticed that Remus had disappeared from the room.

Eventually, Harry stirred and groaned. Sirius immediately stopped the flow of water and placed a hand on his wet shoulder.

"Wake up, Harry."

"What…on earth…"

Harry struggled to open his eyes but was already bewildered that he was drenched through upon waking from his slumber.

"Why am I wet?" he croaked, and lifted a hand to wipe his face.

"Sorry," said Sirius apologetically. He pointed his wand at his godson who was instantly crisply dry again, along with the sheets. "You were boiling hot and we had to cool you down to wake you up."

"Thanks," whispered Harry dryly.

"We need you to drink some potion," Sirius told him, and looked around for the vial he had given to Remus, grabbing it from the bedside cabinet. It was probably best he didn't tell him that Snape had brewed it, though; he was still struggling with this fact himself. "Hopefully it'll speed up your recovery a bit. Do you think you can sit up?"

"Sure."

Sirius helped Harry at least to slouch, if not sit, against the headboard, before tipping the vial to his dry lips. It gurgled as he gulped it all down slowly. When he had finished drinking, Harry pulled a face.

"Disgusting," he grimaced.

Sirius secretly thought that his godson may have repeated that word if he had seen his face in the mirror. The pustules were large and swollen, and along with their green background, disguised the normally healthy face of Harry Potter.

"It doesn't half sting," Harry admitted, following Sirius' eyes with his fingers and probing his face tentatively.

"Try not to touch them," Sirius frowned as Remus returned.

"You're awake," Remus beamed, and placed a bright red cardboard box, somehow familiarly branded with the three golden letters '_WWW_', on the mattress.

"What's that?" asked Sirius suspiciously.

"Fred and George," said Harry hoarsely but confusedly. "A Skiving Snackbox?"

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Fred gave me this before they left for the Burrow," said Remus with a twisted smile, "but I didn't pay it much thought, to be honest. Fever Fudge, isn't it, Harry?"

Harry nodded. If he were feeling better, he might have asked how Remus was aware of this, as Sirius knew the twins would have been careful not to leave their joke products lying around in case Molly found them.

"A Skiving Snackbox," repeated Sirius, grinning as he picked up the box and read the instructions. "Brilliant! I tell you what, Moony, this pair are certainly giving us a run for our money…"

"I think you should take the antidote, Harry," Remus said earnestly. "I have to admit, Fred and George can be a pair of idiots, but having taught them I'm confident that they're actually an intelligent couple."

Sirius did not doubt this for a second. He and James had _definitely_ been a pair of idiots in their youth, but had also been exceedingly clever.

"Ok," Harry shrugged. He was looking extremely ill and like he didn't really care to object even if he had wanted to.

Sirius snapped off the white end of the sweet that was the antidote to the red 'fever' end and passed it to Harry who popped it into his mouth and chewed. From the screwed up look on his face, Sirius thought that chewing might be quite painful if he had the blisters in his mouth.

It took a moment or two, but then miraculously the flush behind the green tinge in Harry's cheeks vanished, leaving him looking pale and perhaps even less healthy than before now that there was a lack of bright colour in his face. Remus raised his wand and after performing the spells they had repeated several times over the past two days, opened his eyes and smiled.

"Well, Fred and George know their magic," he said triumphantly to Harry. "Your temperature has come down from one-hundred-and-four degrees to ninety-nine."

"The clever little buggers!" Sirius remarked, reading the description on the box again. "You know, one day they could really be making good money out of this, and not just for skiving purposes…"

"I do feel a bit better," Harry admitted, breathing in slowly, but then he frowned suddenly. "Hold on… did you say Fred and George had gone to The Burrow?"

"Yes," said Remus slowly, his eyes flickering to Sirius.

"They've all had to go there, Harry," Sirius informed him grimly. "It's really contagious. Hermione hasn't had it before, and we didn't want it passing on to the other Hogwarts students."

"Right," Harry mumbled, a slight scowl on his forehead.

Sirius could tell this had dampened his spirits significantly.

"Hey, don't worry, you'll see them soon. Besides, now that you're taking this potion, you should be up and about in no time."

"They told me to say bye for them," added Remus amiably. "Hermione said that she'll see you very soon… and that not to worry about your homework, as she'll help you with it all when you return to school." He blinked as if an afterthought had occurred to him. "And as I am no longer your professor, I feel no guilt whatsoever about telling you this."

Sirius snorted.

"Not that you really give a rat's ass about your homework feeling like this, Harry."

Harry nodded and sank lower into the pillows. "Yeah," he said weakly, "I'll start worrying about school when I can actually keep my eyes open for five minutes…"


	8. Chapter Eight

"I'm sure she's fine."

Remus stopped short and glanced at Sirius sharply where the other man slouched against the wall with his arms folded, before immediately resuming his pacing over the dusty floorboards, scraping his fingers through his thin hair frantically.

It was irrational. It was pathetic. But he could not help worrying. Tonks had told Sirius she would be back at Grimmauld Place by 6am, as she had promised Dumbledore she would stay in the Department of Mysteries until Kingsley replaced her at 5.30am. It was now 8 o'clock in the morning – he and Sirius had both intermittently stayed up for the whole night, in order to give Harry his hourly dosage of Gunhilda potion – and there was no sign or word from her whatsoever.

"But surely she would have sent word if she knew she was going to be late?" he asked for the third time. "If I know Tonks, she would never leave us waiting anxiously."

Sirius shrugged. "Maybe she went home," he suggested, and his slightly carefree manner annoyed Remus.

"You forget she lived with her parents," said Remus impatiently. "It was only just burned down, remember?"

"But she does have a life," Sirius pointed out. "You know, she could be in the Aurors' office – she was at the Ministry anyway and…"

"If it was Harry," Remus interrupted lowly, "you would worry. Wouldn't you?"

His friend looked taken aback, then, and he bit his lip and half-glanced to the closed bedroom door along the corridor that was his godson's. Sirius loved Harry and always envisioned the worst possible scenarios when something was out of place. Remus… he cared about Tonks a great deal and felt extremely protective of the young woman. These days, he did feel attached to her almost physically.

"Yes, yes I would."

Sighing sharply, it occurred to Remus that there was somebody else who would probably always know what was going on more than they ever did.

"I think I'll contact Dumbledore!" he told Sirius rashly, moving to the staircase. "He'll want to know how Harry is anyway."

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By seven o'clock that evening, however, Tonks still had not shown up, and even Sirius was becoming anxious. You always _had _to be anxious when one of your friends was late and they were an enemy of Lord Voldemort's. But eleven hours, to Sirius, was more than tardiness; it was reason to start considering that something bad and unexpected may have occurred.

Remus was out of his mind with fright and worry. At one point he had been physically shaking and he had not sat down, eaten or drank for the day's entirety. It was not difficult to understand. Nobody knew where Tonks was, not even Dumbledore who was also at this minute trying to discover her whereabouts. They had sent her two messages, the second one demanding to know if she was all right, in patronus form which had not been answered. Kingsley had reported nothing out of the ordinary. The other auror had relieved her from her watch quite normally—Tonks had been fine—and she had said nothing of where she was going or what she was planning to do upon leaving the Ministry building. It was currently a mystery.

"Sirius," Harry said weakly, interrupting his thoughts, "what's wrong?"

Sirius snapped out of his reverie to find that Harry was awake, and staring at him curiously. He was sat in the chair he had conjured besides Harry's bed and had been lost in his thoughts for a long length of time that he could not place. Undoubtedly, some of what he was thinking had showed on his face. He forced a smile and leaned forwards. It was positive that Harry was conscious and well enough to have located his glasses for himself.

"Nothing, Harry. Are you all right?"

As he nodded and smiled, Sirius was glad to see that he appeared majorly healthier than he had the previous day. The potion was working. Although somewhat loathe to admit it, Snape's potion skills were well adept and the finished brewed result had allowed the vomiting, at least, to cease, and Sirius was sure that the greenish tinge behind the pustules on Harry's face had diminished a little. They were also continuing to give Harry the antidote of the Fever Fudge to keep his fever down, and were regularly making him drink goblets of water to maintain his hydration.

"I feel ok," Harry said, stretching out his arms and examining the rash. "Everywhere's still stinging, though."

Nodding, Sirius reached out and brushed Harry's fringe away gently to observe the rash on his forehead, as it was worse on his face.

"I think you're definitely on the mend," he agreed contentedly. "The potion's taken effect sooner than I thought it would."

"Good," Harry sighed in relief, rubbing the rash on his arm with the palm of his hand and pulling an uncomfortable face.

"To be honest, I think the fever was what was causing you to be sick. Merlin bless Fred and George! I knew they were into making these joke products, but not that they were capable of this standard of magic."

"You've probably only seen the half of it," Harry grinned. "Even Hermione has been amazed. They're going to have an impressive shop one day."

Sirius frowned. At Hogwarts, and even for a few memorable years after their graduation before their lives had become too darkly ensnared in the war against Voldemort and definitely before Harry had been born, he and James had spent countless hours researching and experimenting in most areas of magic that were taught and also never mentioned at school. They had never aimed to create joke products but had occasionally ventured along similar creative routes. It was partially how he and his best friend had become so talented, knowledgeable and successful with everything. Of course, they had never once considered touching the Dark Arts. Nevertheless, Lily, who had been an easy-going person once she had settled in a relationship with James, had never often approved of their antics, as sometimes the experimenting and even mere curious fooling around had been dangerous.

Was this the responsible adult emerging in Sirius Black, worrying about his godson's teenage wizard friends whose strict mother was his cousin? The success of these Skiving Snackboxes proved that Fred and George knew what they were doing; of course they were fine. Creation didn't exist without experimentation. But, then, Sirius did wonder…

"How on earth are they buying their supplies?" he questioned Harry, puzzled. "Where are they getting their money from?"

The Weasleys' were not exactly the wealthiest family around. Certainly Molly and Arthur didn't provide their children with an extensive amount of wizarding gold, and the twins were still at school, unemployed. Both Sirius and James had owned their own private Gringrotts' accounts at their age. Sirius had obtained a certain amount of wealth from his family, despite his lifelong distaste at this, and James, especially, had never been out of pocket due to his parents' richness. A lot of the time the pair had nicked supplies from the Hogwarts' store cupboards but they had also needed to order specific products, sometimes. And these products had never exactly been what one would call cheap.

To Sirius' surprise, Harry had turned a faint pink colour. It was probably only noticeable because of his current very pallid features. He narrowed his eyes.

"Go on," he encouraged, smirking, "what's the secret? Are they somehow managing to bypass the fifth principle exception to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration?" He paused and joked, "It wouldn't surprise me after seeing these amazing Skiving Snackboxes."

Harry's eyes snapped up to meet Sirius' and his black eyebrows were raised questioningly and a little amusedly, his green eyes bemused.

"Gamp's _what_?"

"Law of Elemental Transfiguration," Sirius repeated slightly impatiently, thinking that this was common knowledge for someone who had attended school for four full years. "You know… the law with exceptions that prevent us from materialising objects out of thin air?"

"Glad you spoke in English at the end, there," Harry said, sarcastic, a smile twisting at the corner of his mouth. "You sounded like Hermione—and I've never said that about anyone before!"

Sirius laughed.

"Trust me, I'm not a Hermione," he said lowly and seriously, grinning nonetheless. "So come on, anyway, where are the twins getting their experiment funds from?"

Harry shrugged and smiled. "Me," he said simply.

Taken aback, Sirius stared for a moment.

"Harry," he began steadily, "that's your dad's money—"

"Well, really it's mine now."

"And you may need it one day," he said seriously, again surprised at how easily the responsible guardian appeared, but then he shook his head. "Not that you'd ever be short when I'm around, or even if I wasn't."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"The money I gave them didn't come from Gringrott's," he revealed, "so you can relax. I gave them the Triwizard Tournament winnings."

Sirius couldn't help it – he beamed at his godson.

"You're too generous," he commented fondly, "you know that, don't you?"

"Says the man who bought me a Firebolt when he didn't even know me!" reminded Harry, smiling back. "Besides," he added, sobering slightly, "I didn't want that money – the reminder that came with it was too painful."

Nodding, Sirius was still saddened at the effect that Cedric Diggory's murder had taken on Harry. It was mentioned by him quite frequently and without him even realising, making it blatantly obvious that the recent memory played on his mind a great deal. Sirius remembered the numbness and isolation everyone had been forced to adapt towards the deaths of people they had known, the first time around whilst fighting Voldemort. There was no choice but to detach yourself, or the grief would have consumed. He also remembered that the first death he had ever witnessed had been the worst, and was still the freshest in his mind, besides the deaths of James and Lily, of course. Anger suddenly coursed through him as he remembered that the death of Cedric Diggory, causing Harry this grief, was Peter's work, as his dearest friends' deaths had been. The treachery burned inside him constantly like the fiercest of fires.

Pulling himself away from his thoughts and trying to ignore the anger and the hurt, Sirius nodded.

"Well, at least the money's gone to a good cause," he pointed out. "We could all do with a good laugh, these days."

"Sirius," Harry ventured and he looked sheepish. "Do you think… that maybe I could have something to eat?"

Surprised, Sirius grinned and clapped his godson on the shoulder.

"Of course," he said, rising from his seat, "I'll go and get you something. Are you sure you're feeling all right enough for that?"

"Yeah, I mean, I don't feel back to normal, still ill… but definitely hungry."

"Great!"

As he reached the door, though, Harry spoke again.

"I might even be able to join them at the Burrow, before Hogwarts, at this rate."

Sirius halted with his hand on the doorframe, not knowing how to react, knowing that Harry had not meant to intentionally cause that pang of hurt in his chest but also unable to ignore it. Stung, he hovered and turned back around without looking Harry in the eye and forced a smile that probably reflected the slight sadness that had overcome him at such a statement.

"Don't count your dragons before they've hatched, Harry," he said quietly, and smiled again before leaving for the kitchen.

It was understandable that he would prefer to be at The Burrow rather than here with his godfather. This musty, dark, creepy house was deeply unattractive and unappealing in comparison to the light and comfort of the Weasleys' quirky house, which at least provided the opportunity to be outside in the orchards for a bit of fresh air. Harry was like him, in some ways; he hated being cooped up indoors for any length of time. And of course he wanted to be with his best friends. Isn't that what _he_ had constantly done at Harry's age? But, then, Sirius had not had that one person who had cared about him like he cared about Harry; he had loathed his family, so much that he had preferred to often think that he simply did not have one.

Harry did have family now—him. But frequently Sirius had to remind himself that he could never replace James and Lily even in terms of a guardian—not that he wanted to _replace_ them exactly. Perhaps Harry did not want somebody to the extent of effort that Sirius felt he was putting into their relationship. Perhaps he was nice to have there, but in moderation, or only when he was really needed, like for instance because Harry had been ill and required care. Maybe he wasn't as important to Harry as Harry was to him.

As the doubts crept up into Sirius' mind, they also forced a thickness into his throat and a tingly pain in his chest as they devastated him. Harry was so important to Sirius, it was unbelievable. He was all he really had, or ever had, after Azkaban. The feeling that his godson may not want to spend time with him, or only see this place as somewhere to stay and not somewhere to see him, was almost painful. Lost in his thoughts and his sinking mood, Sirius did not even notice that somebody was sat at the kitchen table when he entered the dim room, or that the candles along the walls had already been lit.

"Hey, cousin."

Sirius gasped and jumped out of his skin. Whirling around, he found that Tonks was sat there, smiling as she cupped a large mug of something that he realised smelled horrible and caused his stomach to somersault. But it might have done that already as the combined feeling of relief and anger rose up in his chest like an eruption.

"You absolute idiot, Tonks!" he cursed loudly, striding around the table and grabbing her shoulder roughly. She was still wearing a travelling cloak. "Where the _hell_ have you been? Everyone's been worried sick about you! Remus…"

Tonks raised her eyebrows which were currently bright green, and would have suited her well if it were not for the black rings that encircled her tired, bloodshot eyes.

"It's not really any business of Remus' where and how I spend my day off," she said coolly. "Nor does he want to make it his business."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Sirius pushed her away none-too-gently, causing the black, hot liquid to lap over the edges of the mug onto her fingers. She yelped as he collapsed into the chair next to her.

"How can you be so selfish?" he growled. "Dumbledore's been looking for you, everyone has been on edge all day, thinking the worst has happened!"

Sucking her burnt fingers, she scowled deeply at him.

"I've already spoken to Dumbledore," she said accusingly after a heated moment. "And I didn't really have time to contact anyone. I haven't received your messages. I've been in Romania."

He stared at her. That explained why she hadn't answered with her own patronus; messages in such a form were restricted somewhat to the sender's country.

"Romania?" he repeated doubtfully.

"Yes, actually. My mum and dad are hiding there, aren't they? They had to fly there in muggle style 'cause obviously dad can't apparate, so it's not like they can nip back to see me. I've been with them all day."

"And I suppose you obtained a license on a whim, did you?" he asked suspiciously.

Legally, you required a separate wizarding license in order to apparate across the seas, and usually the Ministry would pick up on the transportation if one did not exist, but Tonks shrugged nonchalantly despite this.

"I'm an Auror—we all have permanent licenses."

"I see. I just hope this wasn't on purpose to get to Remus," Sirius said accusingly, still mad with her. "You've half made him ill with worry, you know."

Again, she merely shrugged, but looked thoroughly depressed. He exhaled angrily and stood up again.

"In fact," he announced, fractiously, "I'm going to go and tell him you're safe and put his mind at ease! Unless of course you feel you should do it yourself?"

"No," she said very quietly, her head dropping as she stared into the nearly-empty contents of her mug.

Sirius even _hoped_ that she felt guilty. Fair enough, he could understand her point of view that she held no ties to Remus and therefore it may not be his business whereabouts she was. But even so, it was horrible to place that fear in somebody's mind. And in his opinion, if they were all in the Order and the times were becoming as dark as they were, it should be everybody's business where everybody was and what they were doing. How else were they to know they were safe?

"Sirius," Tonks called timidly as he left the room.

He sighed and stepped backwards, but did not look at her.

"How's Harry?"

Whether it was the mention of Harry, or the maternal care present in her voice, he didn't know, but he felt his own features soften as some of the anger subsided.

"He's better," he answered quietly, "much better. The potion's really working."

"That's good," she mumbled, nodding. It sounded like there was a lump in her throat.

"Tonks," Sirius implored, "please, please, don't let us worry like that again. Just… always tell us where you are."

"Ok."

The response was almost automatic and he realised that her thoughts weren't entirely focussed on his words. It wasn't difficult to guess, and likely be correct, about where her thoughts did lie, however, considering the expression on her face which could easily cause anybody's heart to sink with anguish.

"Remus isn't the only one who cares," he muttered after a pause, watching her for a moment, before leaving her completely alone in the kitchen and heading to his friend's room to spread the glorious relief.

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Author's Note

Wow, that took a long time. And to think I was hoping to have started my next story by now! Just wanted to say: thank you again for the reviews! I really appreciate the time it takes you to comment.


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